The She Series
by Babylon By Candlelight
Summary: Silent sufferings of the women of Hogwarts, past and present. One-shot series. New Story: Behind Blue Eyes
1. Futures

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own Harry Potter

She sits there watching, wondering what could have been. She is happy with her life, yet she can't help but question where she is in it. She wonders how it would have all changed if they were, or ever had been, together. Would they have made each other happy? Or would it have been one fight after another, screaming, jealousies, tears… Would they have said hurtful, tearing things, words that leave scars on the heart? She can envision it now, the anger and hurt escalating, the two of them saying things they don't mean… eventually saying things they _do_ mean.

It would have been terrible.

A flash of white passes by her now, but she pays it no mind. She is too busy trying not to let her mind wander to another future, one she allows herself to visit only when she sleeps. There were still fights, because no future would be possible without them. But they were good-natured fights, mere bickering really, with laughter behind the words and no real sting to them. She knows that this future is unlikely, but she, for one, would have been willing to give it a try. It would not have been easy, but it would have been _theirs_She would have been a key player in all of it.

Now she was merely a spectator.

She is the only one of her friends not standing up there, but she knows it is for the best. The Ministry Official is saying, "If there are any here who know why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Inside her head she is screaming, screaming, screaming, but her mouth stays firmly closed. She has made her choice, and she will not interfere in what his decision is. The pause in the ceremony seems to last a lifetime, and in the silence, she begins to bargain with herself. If he looks at her now, shoots her even the faintest glance, she will speak. She will tell him what she should have told him years ago. All it takes is one glance and she'll proudly announce that she loves him so very much, and even though he might laugh in her face, at least he'll know. She won't have that secret glowing inside her, poking and taunting, forcing her to look at cold reality every day and what _could have been_.

The glance never comes, the ceremony proceeds, and her moment is lost. His stunning eyes never leave the face of his bride, and for the first time since she sat down, tears threaten to flow. She has to force herself to watch as her best friend and the woman in white share their first kiss as husband and wife. She can't help but wonder if it would be she instead had she only confessed her secret years ago. She finds she can't wonder long however; it hurts too much, and she is so tired of hurting. She begins to plan her escape while the reception begins, hoping she can make her exit quickly so that no one will feel the need to converse with her. She hopes that he won't find her; that she can leave and forgo the conversing with the newly married couple. She knows that if she is required to look into his eyes, congratulate him, maybe even hug him or shake his hand, she might just melt into a puddle of misery. She has seen him hugging anyone who will stand still long enough, and she fears that she is next. After all, it is only a matter of time before he finds her in this dark corner, and she honestly believes that if she has to touch him, the world will end. _Her_ world.

She sees him glance around, his face falling from a beatific smile into a confused, slightly hurt frown. She knows that he is looking for her, and that knowledge becomes too much. Clinging to the shadows and trying to ignore the tears streaming down her cheeks, she tries to locate the door that will lead to her freedom. Fresh air awaits her, and the chance to disappear home. She just has to make it there unnoticed.

Alas, it is not to happen. He has detected her presence and in her distracted state, she crashes into him and is only prevented from falling by his support. She blushes furiously at first but gains control quickly, staring up at his laughing face.

"I've been looking for you all day! Where've you been?" His voice is full of joy, only to be expected on his wedding day. His eyes sparkle, and she is surprised that he can't hear how quickly her heart is beating.

"Just… around. I talked to your family for awhile, and then just relaxed," her own answer seems inadequate, lacking, and insincere. She wonders if he can hear the pain in her voice, but he doesn't seem to notice. She can't tell if this makes her feel better or worse. The tears have dried now, and there is no evidence that they ever existed. She mentally curses her complexion, the tones of her face that hide everything. The smile on his face is killing her, and she thinks that at the very least, he should be able to tell.

"I still don't see why you weren't up there with us…" His voice is petulant, though teasingly so, and her heart screams out for mercy; the sheer familiarity and comfort between them is stabbing at her like a thousand knives.

"I told you, it just wouldn't have been a good idea. Take my word for it for once, please," is her muted, evasive reply. She can't tell him the real truth, which is that she could not have endured it. That his wedding would have been ruined by his best friend running from the hall, tears streaming down her face as they threatened to do now.

"I just don't see why you can't tell me. It would have meant a lot to have you up there with me." His tones have changed now, become curious and inquisitive, and there, finally, is that damned look in his eyes, the look that always made her wonder if there was something more than just friendship to the two of them. She wonders for the millionth time if he is doing this on purpose; if he knows just how much control he has over her emotions, and if he enjoys it.

"I'm sorry. I'll stand up with you the next time you get married," she half-heartedly replies, trying for a joke. She knows that she would give _anything_ to stand up with him if he ever got married again – not just with him, but _beside _him. Yet another answer she just can't give him, and she finds herself wishing this conversation is over. There's just too much emotion in this room, and she can't breathe.

He looks as though he is going to say something, and the feeling in his eyes has intensified, but after a few moments, he merely laughs and nods. "Yeah, definitely next time," is his only answer, and he shifts uncomfortably.

Silence. Her best friend and worst enemy. There are a thousand things that can be confessed in a single silence, and she doesn't want him to know any of them.

"Well, I should get going. Unlike some people I know, I have to get to work early tomorrow." She knows that she is begging off early and is terrified that he'll ask her to stay longer, but he must want to keep things hidden too, since he merely nods in response. They both know something is different, but neither one of them will admit it. It risks a friendship that neither of them can lose.

"Yeah, well, thanks for coming."

"You know that it was no problem. I wouldn't dream of missing this." No, she only dreamt of this in her nightmares.

"I know. Love you, Hermione."

"I love you too, Ron."

Then she is finally out the door, running, running, running before she remembers that she is a witch and can Apparate. She returns to her flat, her lonely flat, and flings herself down on the couch. She knows she won't be able to make it to her bedroom tonight, because as soon as her body hits the cushions, the storm of weeping overcomes her and she is helpless in its stead. Eventually, the sobbing subsides, and she is left exhausted and overwhelmed. Sleep enters now, weaving a sanctuary around her tired body and taking her into its loving embrace.

And in her sleep she dreams of a future. It is not a future that is possible for her to live, not after today, but it is a future nonetheless.

A/N: I didn't feel it was necessary to name the bride in here, because this could be any real pairing in Harry Potter between a male and female character. I merely happened to choose Ron and Hermione by chance; feel free to insert your favourite pairing yourself to make the reading more enjoyable and personalized.


	2. Heart Shaped Box

She notices that once again, he is tense whenever she is around, and though she still can't understand why, she knows that this is the beginning of another mood swing. It has been like this ever since he got together with Girlfriend, even though her actions towards him have been more restrained since his attachment. Their physical contact has all but ceased, and she is brave enough to admit that she misses it.

It's hard to know what to think anymore. She's used to the mood swings, but they've become more frequent and confusing in the past month. One moment they're best friends, laughing and teasing, and then a moment passes and she is forced to be an ice berg, a stand-alone hunk of ice because he has already turned into a lone, looming glacier, untouchable and out of reach. The chill coming from him is unbearable, and even though she's been through it countless times, it still hurts, and she still can't understand it.

There was a time when she had him figured out. It seems a lifetime now, even though in reality, it was just over two years ago. She knows now that two years can be the length of a millennium with enough changes to fill those thousand years. If she had known just how long two years could feel, perhaps she could have prepared herself for the aftermath of the changes. If nothing else, she would at least have steeled herself for the onslaught of hurt that was brought with her… realization.

He has a girlfriend currently, but she knows that he doesn't really care about her. It's obvious from the way he looks at her, talks about her, and touches her. Or, rather, from the way he _doesn't_. To be fair, she doesn't know what they're like in private, but to the public eye, it's as though they've never seen each other before. She can't understand why they're still together, but he stops speaking to her whenever she tries to ask. Eventually, he accuses her of being jealous, and she stops asking. His accusation is a little too close to home, and even though she is a clever girl, even the most brilliant people can immerse themselves in denial. If she admits to hating Girlfriend for a reason other than the fact that the girl is completely useless, then she has to confess_why_, and she can't do that. Not out loud, at least.

Even to herself, she has explained everything away so far. The racing heart is just a symptom of dehydration, and her sweaty palms are a result of stress. However, the sheer loathing of a girl who's never done anything but be… well, bland is something that has no quick, easy answer. There's no reason for the blaze of animosity, even if there are many people who irk her merely because they are ignorant.

It's not that simple this time though, even if she tries to convince herself it is. She may be in denial, but she isn't stupid. She hates Girlfriend because she can play with his hair (his gorgeous, soft hair) whenever she likes without a tense, strained awkwardness following, but she never does. There are so many things they could discuss, so many ways he could make her laugh, or vice versa, but all Girlfriend does is sit and stare blankly.

She knows that she is better suited for him than Girlfriend. She knows that she could challenge him, keep his interest… make him happy. She knows that he isn't happy now; there is no way that he is happy with Girlfriend, and she hates that he stays with her, thus denying himself real happiness. She knows that he was happy once, and that it ended badly for him, which is why he merely amuses himself with a girl who is certainly lacking in everything he really wants, and it kills her.

Besides, Girlfriend doesn't know him like she does.

Girlfriend doesn't _love_ him like she does.

But because she is a smart girl, even for one in denial, she knows that these two facts will never matter. If – no, when he tires of Girlfriend, there will be another girl just waiting to take her place. There will always be another girl, and another, and another. Everyone knows him, and because he is who he is, half the girls here at school already love him.

…_Think_ they love him. She laughs bitterly in the silence of the early morning as a few students hurry to breakfast. They don't know what it means to love him, to endure months of tense conversation and hurtful words, to have to learn to anticipate his mood swings and downward spirals. She knows how to keep him from falling, but does anyone else? She doubts it, because it is not something that can be learned, not with him; it comes naturally to her because she has always done it, ever since she met him. She tried to save him first; loving him came later. He hurts her, tears her down, lifts her up, and in the way only he can, loves her. She is his best friend, and that is why she sticks around even though she sometimes considers walking out. She knows that he needs her, because even though he hates her for it, she knows the _real_ him, the man behind the Public Face he parades around.

He walks by now without Girlfriend, but she doesn't even look at him – he is followed by Fan Club. She watches with mild interest, the way one watches a particularly fascinating specimen on a microscope slide, and nods to herself. Yes, Perky Blonde will be the Next Girlfriend; she has suspected for awhile that Current Girlfriend will be kicked to the curb, and it will only be a few weeks now that he has found a replacement.

She knows this, and tries to pretend it doesn't bother her. He won't choose her this time. Deep in her heart, she knows that he will never choose her. She is merely Best Friend, and knows him too well to ever be Girlfriend; she knows that if it ever came to that, he would fall in love with her, and he would never risk it. With Fan Club Girls, there is nothing to lose, and with her, there is everything. He doesn't like playing games he knows he can't win. He can't love her, even though she knows that somewhere in the soul he denies having, he already does.

Knowing this is enough.

Best Friend is good enough for her, and it isn't a secret why. Anyone who knows Draco Malfoy knows that to be near him is wonderful, because he makes those near him feel special, wonderful, better-than-average. He is magnetic, easily pulling people in – his very presence is addicting.

And Pansy Parkinson knows him better than anyone.


	3. The World You Love

She has to keep reminding herself that she's a good friend. That she always knew it would happen, and besides, they were her friends. She should be happy for them. And she is. Don't get her wrong; she's glad that they've found someone to make them happy. But in her heart, she has to admit that she always thought that it would be she who ended up with him, not her best friend. Not perhaps the one female she's become truly close to.

It's not like it matters, anyway. He'll be with someone else soon enough, and that someone else won't be her. It shouldn't cut at her heart like this. Only… only, it's so unfair! She always thought that before he would become truly serious with someone, she would have her chance. Because in the dark hours of the night, the voice within her that she can never completely silence sings like a canary. And though she tries not to listen, she knows that it is right – she wanted more than anything to have her one shot with him, to feel those lips pressed against hers if only to know that they weren't supposed to be. She needed that closure, that finality. And while she accepted before that it would be awhile before she ever got it, she now has to accept that the answer may never come. Even though she had no problem with the casual flirting that went on between them when he had his old girlfriend, she knows that she could never betray her best friend, even though she feels like that's just what's been done to her.

Of course it's not a betrayal for them to be together, and if she's honest with herself (even though she hates to be), she knows it. She knows that they can't help how they feel, and while she wants to shake them, to cry and scream and tell them, tell him, that they _cannot do this to her_, she finds herself talking excitedly with her best friend, telling her how excited she is for her, that she can't wait until he gets up the courage to finally ask her out.

And he will. She knows, because she herself has asked him about his intentions, and he's made them painfully clear. It's eating away at her now, even though she'd never, ever admit it. Every time the three of them are together, whether their other friends are around or not, she wants to scream. It hurts to smile, and she's surprised (and just a little hurt) that they can't see the pain in her eyes. Or maybe they just don't want to admit it.

Another admission? She still can't believe it. She cannot fully process the fact that he is choosing to be with someone new, and that it isn't her. She understands why. She understands the risks it would involve, the sacrifice on both parts. She isn't even entirely sure that she wants to be with him – she had wanted it more than anything in the past, but that has dulled to an aching throb whenever she sits quietly to contemplate her life without him. Now, she just wonders how long it would be before they made each other miserable, how long it would take for them to admit that while they hardly worked as friends, they could never work as anything more.

It's maddening to think on for too long. They fight constantly, and it surprises people to learn that they are actually quite close. No, they aren't friends, if they're honest. They may hang around with the same people and talk, laugh, joke, tell secrets, but they aren't friends. Friends don't smile like that at each other, don't lean against each other so naturally that it seems as though their bodies flow into each other, rather than around. Friends don't touch so easily, nor so much. No one could ever accuse them of being just friends, but they're both quick to deny that there's anything more to it. They are not friends, not lovers, but if one were to see them during one of their dry spells, one of the times when they are not talking, they could easily see that they could never, ever be enemies. Miserable doesn't begin to describe what's etched in their faces during those long weeks that they avoid each other; even their friends don't smile as frequently or laugh with any ease. The tension kills everything around them.

She hasn't cried yet, and she tells herself that she isn't going to. Crying, to her, would be admitting defeat, even admitting that this is really happening. Eventually she knows she'll get used to it, because they are the two people in the world that she is closest to, and she has no one else to be with during the day. She is slightly ashamed to realize that if she had any other alternatives in the friendship category, she'd take them and run; but the fact of the matter is that she's spent most of her time accumulating friends _around _him, and eventually her, and those that she truly likes to spend time with are also close with the soon-to-be-couple. School is almost out, true, but for those last few weeks, she has no intentions of being alone. As pathetic as it is, she knows that she would rather smile and nod, put on a happy face and make snide and rather uncalled for comments in her head than wander around as a loner.

What really hurts is the fact that her best friend would do this to her. She remembered crying for hours after her confession, after it was told that she, too, had a crush on him. And even though she wanted nothing more than to scream, to throw things and demand that she keep her filthy (tramp) hands off of him, she sucked it up. She told her friend that while she was not sure she would be okay with the situation at first, she would get over it. Even then, she knew that her friend would have the greater chance of winning his affections, and while she wanted nothing more than to sabotage or ruin those chances, she did nothing. Not because she was being a good friend, but because she honestly never thought that things would get so out of control.

She's kicking herself for not speaking up. What could be done, though? It isn't as though he's completely unaware of her feelings towards him, but the fact of the matter is, _he doesn't want her._ That single thought resonating through her mind does more damage to her heart than her best friend's grinning face – it hurts almost as much as the mental image of them together, kissing, holding hands, smiling. It may be selfish, but it still somehow doesn't seem right. Years she's waited for her chance, for the opportunity to just get this silly little urge to run her fingers through his hair, to taste his lips on hers, to feel his arms on her waist pulling her closer, to just _get it out of her system already!_

All that little - all her best friend has to do is smile, and laugh, and touch his arm, and she's in.

She doesn't want to hate her. She truly doesn't; most of the time, she enjoys her company, thinks she's a wonderful person. She just wishes that she'd go be a wonderful person somewhere that he wasn't. She wishes that the two had never met.

Oh hell. Let's be honest – she wishes that her best friend would die. Not forever; maybe die is the wrong word. Temporarily comatose, there we go. Maybe even just that she would suddenly decide that she doesn't have any feelings for him whatsoever. That would be ideal. Then he would get over her, and she would have her chance again.

Ginny Weasley feels like the most selfish person in the world right now, as she finally imagines Harry Potter and Hermione Granger together once too often, and unleashes her torrent of tears into her pillow. But no matter how many times she tries to chastise herself, the situation still seems wrong, unfair, because Hermione hasn't waited for years. Years of her life wasted, and neither of them can see just how deep they've driven the knife.

And what's worse, she isn't sure either of them would care.


	4. Everybody's Fool

She's worried about him, no mistaking that. The self-deprecating words have grown to a new level, although anyone who looked at him in public would think that they were all merely jokes. He's never been the most confident person, although his bright personality and boisterous attitude towards life would lead the vast public to believe otherwise. Of course, she sees what everyone else sees – the clumsy-but-endearing charm, the sense of humour, even the flashes of rage in his otherwise sparkling eyes. Normally, there's nothing to be concerned about. Of course, he has mood swings like any other person, his ups and downs perhaps a little more extreme, but on the whole, it's nothing to really blink at. It's normal, teenage-boy emotions running wild.

Not lately, though. Lately it's all changed. The death all around him is getting to him, and now that his best friend has a new girlfriend, he's feeling a bit left out. The girl he's had his eye on let him down gently, of course, but that doesn't change the fact that she didn't want him. Although that kind of pain is survivable, it's never pleasant. Of course, she could go up to him, offer her sympathy, pat his shoulder, but she won't. After all, she doesn't mean very much to him, she's nothing but another face in the crowd. And that's all right – she never expected him to really notice her, and she isn't sure that she even wants him to. It's easy to sit back and be worried from afar, because that doesn't open up any opportunity to be hurt. She's been hurt so many times; her friendship rejected, the idea of romantic attachment causing nothing short of horror in others, and really, he's just like everyone else.

That's the crux of it – he could be different, but he's not. She thought at first he might understand her – although he _wants_ to be a key player in everything, he really can't be the center of it; no matter what, how hard he tries, no matter who he befriends or who his contacts are, he'll always be just to the right of the one really at the core of events. She wonders if he'll ever stop being bothered by it, even though she still hasn't gotten over the pain and anger at being overlooked. She fears it might be hopeless for him, since he never really had the patience at identifying his own failings and shortcomings. Then, she thinks with slight amusement, he is a male, and thus already at a disadvantage there.

The fact of the matter is, he's unhappy, and for some reason, that devastates her. She doesn't think she's really in love with him; he's not her type, if she even has one. But there's some hard, undeniable kinship there; she suspects that whatever her soul is made of, his is made not only of the same kind, but the same crafter, the same workmanship… just the _same_. Although she knows he'll never feel it, they are connected in ways she can't even explain. It's that connection that makes her cold, almost fearful, of his mood swings. Though she doesn't believe in soul mates or even binding ties that allow access to emotions, she knows that no one will ever understand him better than she does, even though they have barely exchanged two whole conversations.

She senses now that not only is he unhappy, but that they all may be losing him. A brief pause is given for her to laugh silently at herself, at her presumptuousness. Lose him? How can _she_ lose him, when he was never hers? It's a little sad, the way she has taken to calling him hers, especially since she knows he would object most strongly to the possessive term, most of all because it was she who was employing it. In all truthfulness though, she knows that at this moment, he is more hers than he will ever be anyone's. After all, she knows him in ways he doesn't even know himself. She is impartial about his flaws, and even more unbiased about his perfections. She can study him with a truly neutral mind, as so many cannot. It is because of this that she knows him inside and out, when not even his best friend knows of the real pain hidden beneath those laughing eyes.

She's not in love with him, but she imagines that someday, she could be. And although she knows it would be a futile effort to even start down that path, she knows herself well enough to know even in its most infinitesimal way, that particular journey has already begun. There is really no way that she could watch him for weeks on end, studying his movements, his facial expressions, and come out unscathed. He's magnetic; he drew her in without her being consciously aware of it, but now that she's there, it's hard to remember a time when she wasn't.

For the record, she is _not_ stalking him. Stalking is when you follow someone on holiday, or to Hogsmeade. She merely happens to be where he is, not even in close enough proximity that he's noticed her. That's perhaps what disappoints her the most – he's never really noticed that she's always in his peripheral vision. The morning after she first realized just how deeply connected she felt to him, she expected something, _anything_ to be different. She wanted to see some epiphany in his gaze when by chance his eyes happened to land on her, but there was nothing – even the dull spark of recognition took a minute to appear once he saw her. It was that delay that hurt her deeply, in some place within that she didn't even realize existed until that moment.

He walks by now, catching her eye, and instinctively, she smiles and waves. A sharp shock goes through her when he waves back, his smile genuine and eyes glittering with the same life that used to run through them. She wonders inwardly at the change, but thinks that it can only get better from here. He's noticed her enough to share that real smile with her, and that means that even if it's slowly, things are changing. He's getting better, going back to his old self, and that means she once more has a chance to prove the connection to him, to show him that she can be just as valuable, meaningful to him, as those whom he surrounds himself with, but know nothing about his inner self.

Then Hermione Granger rushes up next to him, and interlaces her fingers with his, giving him a kiss on the cheek before noticing her, and waving, smiling as well. Another rush of emotion, this time a numb, freezing tidal wave, goes through her, and just barely managing a wave back, she rushes away. So Hermione changed her mind, she muses as she heads to her dormitory.

For the first time in months, Luna Lovegood wonders if she was wrong about just how deep her feelings for Ronald Weasley ran. After all, casual observers didn't sob their hearts out when "just a boy" shows up with a girlfriend. Perhaps they weren't connected after all. She feels like such a fool as she watches the pair from her window, once again overlooked, overshadowed…


	5. Behind Blue Eyes

She watched the shadows play across his face and marveled to herself at how tragically beautiful he was in the hypnotic half-darkness of the moon's pale glow. An amusing paradox – only by the grace of the light was the darkness able to be mused upon, and yet how fitting a paradox it was; the shadow that surrounded her on a daily basis presented a most interesting contrast to his almost blinding purity; a purity that, along with his ideals and morals (so startlingly different from her own), made it impossible for her to look away. He was a wonder to watch – he wore everything he was on the surface, so open and trusting, perhaps oblivious to those who might use his self against him. She, who kept everything so carefully tucked away in a small, secret part of her that she denied even existed, could not fathom why anyone would want to render themselves so vulnerable – and at the same time, a fierce desire to protect him rose up in her, so sudden and strong that at times, it made her sick. How deliciously ironic that she could only watch him by the soft radiance of midnight's meager illumination of the fading moon and twinkling stars; a happy medium of good versus evil – a charming tableau of harmonious existence of darkness and light, side by side, frozen forever in eternity.

Yet Astronomy class came but twice a week, and the rival Houses were so carefully watched by the professor, who was determined to prevent any bloodshed in the night. A wandering eye or inattentive stare would be construed and condemned as contemplating mischief, and thus any visions of stolen romance that otherwise would have freely danced before her mind's eye must be viewed with stealth, lest punishment be doled out. Yet love made her careless, and even the slew of detentions that resulted that winter could not be regretted; indeed, they seemed but a paltry price to pay for her otherwise delightful transgressions.

It was her last winter of happiness.

Despite the era she lived in, a girl of any breeding did not have the luxury of choosing her own path or destiny. To bear the hope of an entire clan after several disappointments sat heavily on her delicate shoulders, and to save herself from the ever-threatening breakdown, all emotions and dreams were locked away in a strong-box, never to be opened again, save for one occasion - when the name of her husband-to-be was announced, a single tear broke through her icy exterior and slipped down her face, much to the horror of her mother. That evening, she endured hours of screaming and bruising insults, but she barely registered the indignities. All she could think about was an older girl in her House who had defied her parents and cast her love where she willed – it had broken the heart of the mother, turned her cold and unforgiving, but to that girl, the price she paid of abandonment and disowning by her family was worth everything – she had her freedom. It was the bravest thing she had ever heard, and the memory allowed her to become numb to the tirades of the woman in front of her. She did not weep again; she was ready to declare her own independence from sch a barbaric family, when her mother uttered a single phrase that stunned her silent:

"You would throw away everything for the sake of one who does not even know you exist?"

Her ears buzzed, her eyes snapped shut, and she heard, felt, saw, tasted – nothing. How could such a large, gaping detail have escaped her so entirely? How, in all her time watching, following, sneaking, _loving_, could she have failed to ever _once_ stop to question whether he ever watched back. She became still, and very, very cold. In her shock, the thought occurred to her briefly that this must be what a glacier felt like. A sharp jolt ripped her back to reality as she saw tears upon her usually-rigid mother's cheek; the sight of the proud, unmovable woman shedding tears over her shaming the family shattered her resolve. She knew she could not break her mother's heart – she did not know that ice cracked more readily than cold iron, nor that crocodile tears can seem the most real of all, as she resigned herself to her fate.

The wedding that took place in the spring was beautiful – how could it not be, with such a handsome groom, and a bride who looked stunning in her flowing white gown that dripped decadence in the form of diamonds, if not in the least bit happy. The couple tried for many years to give to the world an heir, but for many years, their effort was in vain. Eventually, a child was brought not with a scream, but a whimper – and promptly forgotten about by its mother, who could do nothing but stare out the window, and wonder. For the next eleven years, she would take a minimal role in the child's upbringing, preferring to leave education to the father while she dreamed silently in her head, asking herself the question to whose answer she could not bear finding.

It all changed when she saw _him_ again. It was as though the last decade and a half had passed without notice – he was older now of course, with a family of his own, and the sight of the gaggle of children heading onto the Hogwarts express placed the final crack in her numb, frozen heart. His children were screaming around him, laughing and playing, enjoying summer to its very last vestiges, the final instances of freedom before returning to the world of education. They all looked like him, though as she allowed herself to gaze at the mother briefly, she had to admit they inherited portions of her now wasted beauty, mixing with his boyish attractions to produce strangely delightful appearances. She hated every last part that looked like the mother, the parts that should have been hers. She hated how deliriously ecstatic they all were while her own child stood next to her, sullen and solitary, silent as the grave and just as blank. And in that moment, when the man's eyes rested on her son and the brief look of pity crossed his wonderful face, she vowed, _no longer_. She loved him for that look, and for the fierce protectiveness it instilled in her for her son, her _baby_, as it had so risen in her for him in her girlhood.

Yes, she still loved him, despite how he had aged, and lived and loved without her. It was everything that she saw in him – everything, nothing, _anything_, all rolled into the form of softly scattered freckles across his nose, and the open, unashamed look that had stayed with him all these years; everything he did, he still did with all of him, whether it was the blatant grin of happiness, or the sorrow he felt for her son – he still could hide nothing, and oh, how she loved him for it. Here she stood now, Narcissa Malfoy, and for her, Arthur Weasley had come too late. But for her son, he brought a new beginning, with that single look in his shining blue eyes.


End file.
